Tabloid
by fujoshisx2
Summary: Emil Steilsson is a receptionist in an advertisement company. He is assigned to be Leon Wong's assistant, the featured commercial model. They begin to bond as they realize that they can both use a friend in their lonely lives. But lies- whether you read it from a tabloid or heard it from someone- could bring severe damage. Rated T for language.


_I read that he was cocky but polite to some extend._

He was one charming person, that Leon Wong. He got the entire office to fall in love with him on the day he arrived; no matter men or women.

He was humorous. He was attractive. He was sassy.

He was nothing like me.

One day he came to work with a black leather jacket which I thought I could never afford even I work twenty four seven a week. No- that would be just barely enough for me to buy a decent flat of my own.

I dropped out of the community college a year ago, which could explain why a twenty-two year old young man like me was working as a part time receptionist in an advertisement company. Being an internship meant that I had to work my brains out in exchange for the rent and lunch money for the month.

I was completely nameless despite of the name tag pinned my ironed shirt.

He was completely different. He had his name all over the TV and Internet, being the famous idol he was. He started off as a model on a fashion magazine, then got discovered and more popular because of his exotic but handsome appearance. He wasn't tall, but his just face was more than enough already.

Leon Wong's manager (you could also call him his nanny) was the infamous Arthur Kirkland, probably the strictest, scariest manager you would ever meet. He demanded a temporary assistant for Leon because he 'cannot take care of himself or his work very well' as Mr. Kirkland said, of which I truly doubted until now even when I myself was holding the Starbucks take-out cup for the model. Mr. Kirkland just wanted someone to watch over him so he would not get into another scandal with yet another woman.

Extra work pays extra, so why not?

I watched him when he did all the magazine shots. The flashlight flashed upon the bold outline of his face, leaving traces of light in his eyes. He really was handsome; I had to admit that. Much more handsome than me, at least.

The blond and almost white hair of mine always bothered me. They were too light, as if they were about to disappear in the sunlight and glow in the nighttime. Sometimes it attracted curious looks from passerby as well. I had violet eyes, which I absolutely disliked because this certain shade of purple reminded me of someone I was trying to forget.

Leon Wong suited his oriental features quite well. Black eyes, black hair, and fairly tan skin. His hair was considered long as a man, but he liked it that way, I suppose.

He only smiled when he had to or had been told to; at other times he remained solemn and wore a stoic expression, blocking out every possibility of others seeing his emotions. I had accidentally noticed this when he was talking to a girl who was his huge fan. He did not smile nor show any hint of happiness. He really was a weird person.

It was supposed to be my job to drive him home and to work, but he drove me instead. He told me that back in his city, he did not have much chance to drive and he loved to. So I let him, which I truly regretted. Always going on full-speed on the roads makes me sick.

When he ate he normally did not finish all of his food, which may explain why he was so thin. He was almost thinner than me, if that was even possible.

"Western countries always serve such a large portion of food," he said. "I can never clear the plate if the food there is just for one meal."

He wanted latte for breakfast for the fifth time this week, which I found rather strange as he never liked coffee due to my knowledge. But I did what I was told when I saw the message in my phone first thing in the morning.

"Here's your latte," I said, handing him the steaming hot cup.

"Thanks," he said, taking a sip from the paper cup. "Sorry for the trouble; Arthur would get very cranky if he found out I wasn't 'collaborating' with the assistant."

I did not say anything. He liked to talk, and I did not. I just listened. I listened him rambling about how 'boring' his job was, how annoying Mr. Kirkland was, and how much he hated Mondays.

The project they were working on was some kind of TV commercial for a new phone brand, which I neither know nor care at all. We were heading for the photo shoot room, and then I would just sit around doing nothing before lunchtime came and I would bring him his food.

He flashed his charming smile everywhere towards every camera and angle possible. He posed, he stood tall, and he was confident. His dark hair and eyes were not dim at all- they were bright. How ironic when it came to someone like me.

That afternoon when he was, again very strangely, having his second cup of coffee at the cafeteria, he suddenly asked me, "Hey, is your full name like, Emily or something?"

I just stared at him.

"'Cause like, everyone called you Emil, and I still don't know your full name."

"I've been working with you for fourteen hours everyday in the past two weeks, why bother asking me now?"

"Normal people would've told me their names on the first day we worked together, won't they?" his flawless British accent was starting to get on my nerves a little, while facing an oriental man with the accent almost identical as Arthur Kirkland.

"Well, I'm not normal, if that's what you're trying to say," I snapped.

"I didn't say that," he said. "In fact, I want to know your name."

I stared at him again.

"What? Why are you looking at me that way?"

"You want to know my name."

"Isn't that a reasonable request?"

"Millions of people know your name, and you want to know mine."

"Does that even matter?"

"I don't like to be teased."

"I am not teasing you," he said, this time in a more serious manner. "If you won't tell me, I'll settle with Emily. Or Amelia, if you want to."

"Fine," I sighed. "Emil Steilsson."

"Steilsson? This surname is not common in England, isn't it? Where are you from exactly?"

"I thought you were only asking my name," I replied coldly.

"Do you have a quota of answering questions everyday?" he said, and repeated, "Where are you from exactly?"

"You probably don't know that place, anyway."

"Come on, I'm born and raised in Asia. If I cannot memorize every single country in the world, my family will probably disown me," he kept on pestering me. And I knew he would not give up until he got his answer.

"I'm from Reykjavík," I said. "Happy?"

"The capital of Iceland? Cool!" he said. "So why did you-"

"Please," I interrupted him and said. "Can you just leave me alone?"

"But it's so boring around here-"

"Then go find your 'lady friends' out there, I don't care as long as they pay me my extra twenty percent."

"Those are just rumors, I can't imagine you actually believed them."

"What do you expect me to do?" I felt like my temper was at its limits. If he did not shut up, I would explode like how Eyjafjallajökull did back in 2010. "You are my boss, and I'm just your assistant for three months. We can't talk like friends do."

"Why can't we?"

"Because-" I paused, searching for a good reason. "Because…"

"Because what?"

"It doesn't matter!" I said, giving up. "Just- I'm your assistant, okay? And in this past ten minutes you have already invaded eighty-five percent of my personal space, and I don't like it!"

Leon Wong looked like he was taken aback. Probably nobody ever talked to him like that.

The silent tension remained for a few minutes, and he suddenly said, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, I really am. It's just that…" he sighed deeply. "I haven't been able to talk to someone my age properly for a really long time."

"I thought you had many friends," I said kind of sarcastically. "Since you're famous and all that."

He shook his head. "No, I mean real talking. Not just some trash talk about who was dating who and those kinda celebrity crap."

"Don't you have any friends at all?" I asked.

"The ones on talk shows don't count, because I hate them," he said, with more bluntness than I ever expected from him. "The only people I can talk to was my sister, Mei. But she's back in Asia and we couldn't meet often."

He sighed again and placed his cup on the table. "It gets really lonely sometimes," he added.

A foreign feeling stirred inside of me when he slacked back on his chair. Was it pity? Was it sorrow? Was it empathy?

His story may had moved me a little. Just a little.

"I'm sorry for being rude at you earlier," I said. "I didn't mean it. I get hot-tempered easily. Like my brother said, I was like a volcano; unstable and unpredictable."

He laughed a bit. "I can see his point."

Maybe getting along with him was not as hard as it seemed.

Maybe that was the moment we became friends.

* * *

><p><em>I read that his favorite ice-cream flavor was vanilla.<em>

"What is your favorite ice-cream flavor?"

"Licorice."

"Serious?"

"Serious."

"What does it taste like actually?"

"It is hard to describe really. You have to try it yourself."

"I'll pass."

It was how our conversation got on when we met at the train station and walked to work together.

It was the third week of shooting and the workload for Leon (he told me to refer as his given name) had increased rapidly. He had to arrive our company headquarters on seven in the morning to have his makeup and hairdo. Then he had to meet the fashion designer on nine. Then he would have to shoot a thousand of takes for the same five seconds of the commercial. If I were him, I would be bored to death by now.

He stopped drinking coffee in the morning after admitting that he told me to get it because he wanted an excuse to talk to me. "Coffee tastes like crap to me," he said. "Tea is much better. And they don't sell jasmine in Starbucks."

Maybe a bit, just for a bit, I was getting used to him being my friend. Maybe not a typical friend who you hung out with all the time, but more like an intimate friend who you thought you already knew for your whole life after five minutes of talking about your family.

Apparently he came from a huge family. He was one of seven siblings, and the second youngest. His parents died in a plane crash years ago, but their savings and insurance were enough to raise them. Arthur Kirkland was, surprisingly, his own cousin.

"He felt like he should be taking care of us after all these happened," Leon said. "But really; he doesn't have to."

"Then why did you become a model at the first place?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I guess I just went along with Arthur's idea. I hated studying and I didn't want to go to college, so he started my career for me."

He was lucky. He got to choose his way unlike me.

"What about you? You hardly told me anything about yourself and it's not fair," he smirked and said. "Why did you end up here then?"

"It's a long story."

He leaned back on his armchair. "We've got a long time."

So I told him. Everything. How Lukas and I had to earn as much money as possible and move away from our alcoholic of a father, how I ended up having a huge argument with him and leaving for London, how I found this internship online and started working here.

He did not say anything or interrupt as I thought he would as I told him my story.

I wondered if he had listened at all.

* * *

><p><em>I read that he had a girlfriend.<em>

There was one night when the shooting ended very late. It was three in the morning and there was no one on the streets. After hearing that I had to take an hour of bus back home, he offered me to stay in his apartment for the night, which was located only a few blocks away.

"It's totally fine," he insisted. "I live alone and I got plenty of empty rooms."

So I obliged due to my extreme tire.

We walked in the darkness side by side. The autumn wind was blowing away the last bits of the remaining summer in the early September night. Leaves were blown pass our feet as we walked on. Leon did not seem tired at all.

"There are no stars visible in the city," he said. "Same case in Hong Kong. Too much pollution."

"Well, we could see stars every night in Iceland," I said, covering my mouth as I yawned.

"Lucky you," he said. "I've never been to Iceland before. Hey, next time you go back to visit or something, can I tag along?"

I hesitated for a while before saying, "Actually, I don't go back at all. Not anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because of my dysfunctional family, of course."

A few seconds of awkward silence.

"Sorry, I'm doing that again, am I not?" he apologized. "Invading your personal space."

"I don't mind so much now," I said. "Since you've already practically occupied my personal space."

He laughed. This time it was a genuine laughter. "Glad to know that."

In the pitch dark his eyes were like stars to me.

When I almost tripped on the cobbled and wet ground he held my arm and lifted me up. "Careful," he said. And the second he touched me my heart skipped a beat.

"Are you alright?" he asked in concern, frowning a bit.

"I..think so," I said. I had trouble catching my breath when his bright eyes looked right into mine.

"Watch out for the puddles, you don't wanna fall right into them," he said jokingly, letting go of my arm.

London rained almost everyday.

"Thanks," I murmured, gathering myself up. What the hell was wrong with me?

"My flat is just there," he said, pointing at a window on the third floor of a huge apartment building.

"You live alone in such a big place?" I asked him after he opened the door, leading me to a view of a grand living room that already doubled the size of my flat. It was very plain and had rarely any decorations. A gray sofa was placed in front of the TV against the white wall, and there was a small wooden dining table with only two chairs beside it.

"Sadly, yes," he said.

"I thought you live with your girlfriend or something."

"Who told you I had a girlfriend?"

"I just assumed you have one." It was a lie. The girl and his photos were all over the news and internet.

"Uh, actually, I don't," he replied. I could not tell if he was lying or not.

"But from what I read, you are a hopeless womanizer," I said teasingly.

"You're twenty two, right?" he suddenly asked me.

"Yeah."

"When is your birthday?"

"…17th of June."

"So you are two weeks older than I am," he seemed a bit disappointed. "But anyway, ninety percent of what they think I am is not true; I can guarantee that."

I still could not tell if he was lying or not.

But I did have a good night's sleep in the well-maintained guest room.

* * *

><p><em>I read that his favorite season was winter.<em>

It was October already and the weather had gotten a bit cold. I had grown up in an extremely chilly environment so I was not affected by it too much, but for Leon it was another story.

"You look like you're going to Himalayas," I said to him as he walked towards me in his two layers of wool jacket and trench coat.

"Oh shut up," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Aren't you cold at all?"

"Trust me, it is much more colder than here in Iceland."

"That's not hard to believe, like, that place's already got the word 'ice' in it," he said. "Come on, get in the car."

I looked out of the window as the busy scene in London flashed before me. People in suits were crossing the roads, shops were crowded with people who wanted their breakfast, the train station was full of passengers waiting for their ride.

"Tired?" he asked, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he waited for the lights to turn green.

"Not at all," I said. "You should be the tired one, considering the massive workload they have given you for the past month."

"Nope, I'm not tired at all, too," he smiled and said, giving me a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Thanks to you."

Why did I feel my cheeks burning?

I guess it was just the heater in the car.

We drove pass the same pavement near the convenient store just like we did every gloomy morning. I would have coffee, and he would have his tea in the vacuum flask. He sometimes brought breakfast from the Chinese restaurant he liked when he missed his sister's cooking.

"I swear, she cooks the best food ever," he said. "I should definitely invite you home for dinner one time."

"That's quite impossible for me," I said with a grim smile. "I don't even have the spare money to buy a new coat for the winter."

"Don't you have any savings?"

"The savings are for my initial deposit," I rolled my eyes and said. "I'm not rich like you."

He seemed to be uncertain how to reply to my words, so he just focused on driving instead.

Money was always a touchy topic.

"Here we are," Leon said as he pulled up in the underground parking lot, locking the car doors with his car keys swiftly. I took off my seat belts and walked up the stairs with him.

"You gotta have an interview today at the shooting room, you know that?" I asked him, reviewing his schedule that Arthur gave me.

"I know, I know," he said, looking slightly annoyed. "I hate those tabloid reporters. They exaggerate your words so much that you won't even bother to tell them the truth."

"Did you tell them the truth then?"

He probably did not hear my question because he accidentally bumped into a staff and started frantically apologizing.

Or maybe he was just faking.

* * *

><p><em>I read that his favorite movie was Titanic.<em>

This morning's video shooting was going to take a long time and everyone had to remain absolutely silent. So I took out my old paperback to read.

"Romeo and Juliet?" During break time Leon came over and snatched away the book in my hands and said. "Why the hell are you reading that? I never knew you were into Shakespeare."

"I found a copy at my home and thought that I was going to sit here all day anyway, so why not," I explained, grabbing back my book. "Oh great, now I lost the page number."

"Do you like romance stories?" he asked suddenly.

"I'm okay with them," I shrugged and said.

"I don't usually like romance stories," he said. "But I do like Titanic."

"Titanic? That's like the cheesiest movie ever," I laughed.

"I don't like the cheesy parts of it," he said, sitting down next to me as he drank all the water in his bottle in one gulp. "I like how it ends."

"You like to see people dying?"

"No," he said, closing his eyes. "I like to see people who don't get to be together."

I gave him a weird look. "Well, that is an unique hobby."

"'Cause in real life people never get together," he said. "That is the truth. And I only like truths, not fairytales where they live happily ever after in a castle."

"Then you'll probably like Romeo and Juliet, too," I waved my book in front of him. "Both plots are about stupid teenagers thinking they've fallen in love and ended up dying for it."

He laughed at my remark. "Maybe I'll read this someday."

And that was why people should never fall in love. They were just falling in a hole that would bring them to Wonderland.

And in Wonderland, everything was merely illusions.

* * *

><p><em>I read that it was his first time being featured on a commercial.<em>

The TV commercial which featured Leon Wong and the new phone aired before nighttime news again.

The entire project was over. They all packed their bags and left. Another celebrity named Isabel or Elizabeth or something like that took over the shooting room for a frying pan commercial.

It really was a bit disappointing that he did not try to contact me again. I mean, we were always texting each other for the past few months.

Did it really mean that our friendship ended just like my temporary contract did?

I was not going to lie; I liked him as my friend. I felt less lonely when he was around. I was not those kind of sociable people and I did not really have a lot of companions.

Now I could still see him, but only through my TV and the magazines.

It seemed that he was caught with another girl at some bar again as it was written on the tabloid. But when you look closer to the picture they published, you could see that the man there was probably not the right guy. His hair was more brownish than black, he was rather short, very thin, and he disliked drinking scotch to my knowledge. The man in the picture was definitely bigger than Leon, and he was holding a shot of orange scotch.

Where was he, anyway?

He did mention a few times that he may travel back to Asia and visit Mei, who was living in Taiwan. He also said that there was a possibility that he would take an acting job offered by his third eldest brother, who was some sort of a drama series director. That meant he could be anywhere on earth.

I hate to admit this, but I did miss having him around.

In the morning I would not wake up to the sound of a buzzing phone, flashing the twenty messages he had sent me, telling me the weather and his cranky manager's mood that day. Sometimes he would send funny pictures or jokes to me that he found on the internet.

When he did all that I felt like I had someone beside me who would always be there.

He was not the stuck-up, arrogant type of celebrity. Maybe he had to hide his true self on screen, but at least I know who he really was.

He was a good person. In general.

And I missed him.

* * *

><p><em>I read that he liked drinking. A lot.<em>

Hey, if you're available tonight (which i know you are, because I know your work schedule anyway), can you meet me at the pub down the corridors of the street I live? I'll be there by eight o'clock.

I almost had a mini heart attack when I saw this message in my phone.

He wanted to meet me. Tonight.

I could see him again…

I took my bag and swung it on my shoulder, running out to my flat to catch the bus to work. A weird mixture of nervousness and excitement stirred inside my chest.

At the reception desk I did my usual work; greeting our clients, bringing tea and coffee, informing managers who was going for an appointment. But I did it all half-heartedly. My mind was already preoccupied by the unexpected meeting tonight with Leon Wong.

I could still call him as my friend, right?

I looked at the clock across the reception desk and sighed. Half-pass four, still half an hour to go before I could leave.

But there was another thought inside my head that I could not comprehend.

Why did he want to see my now? Why not sooner, why not later? Why choose a moment of awkward times when you consider whether to maintain the friendship with a new friend. Like someone you met in a summer camp, or someone who lives across the street and came to say hi one afternoon.

Anyway. No matter what brought him here, I would still meet him. What was the difference?

When it was five I returned my name tag to the manager and took the bus home again. I wanted to freshen up before I meet him, so he would know that I made an effort for this event. I took a quick shower and put on my best shirt and jeans. I wore a cap to hide my dreadful blondish-white hair. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I knew I was all set to leave.

I took the same bus again but got off a station earlier, where the pub he mentioned was just across the street. Cars were dashing through the roads quickly, and drinkers all gathered around in the alleys to chat.

I had never been into an actual pub or club before, because I was not a big fan of alcohol. Or for that matter, socializing and talking to strangers.

He was there at the end of the bar, a wine glass was placed before him as he rested his head on his left hand. He seemed rather tired to me.

"Uh…hey, Leon?" I went over to him and patted his shoulder.

He raised his head and saw me, a smile appeared on his weary face. "Hey, Em! What took you so long?"

"The traffic was horrible," I said, sitting down next to him.

"I know you don't really like drinking, so I ordered you a cocktail instead. It is very light," he told me, taking a sip from his glass.

"Thanks." I shifted my legs uncomfortably. I did not know what to say.

He did not bother to start the conversation as well. He took a drink from his glass over and over again until it was completely emptied. The bartender refilled it when he brought my cocktail to me.

"Cheers?" he said, raising his glass.

"Cheers."

The glasses clanged and we drank our separate drinks. I think he was drinking some sort of vodka judging by its smell, which to my knowledge is a really strong alcohol. But he remained indifferent. His cheeks did not go red and he was not drunk at all.

"So," he said, putting down his glass. "You are probably wondering why I did not contact you in the past two weeks."

"What are you expecting? You really think I care that much about you?" I teased him, taking a small sip. It was not all that bad, actually. But I did not like the feeling of the alcohol tickling my nose when I swallowed.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. His expression was dead serious.

"Stop joking around," I said. "Aren't you gonna tell me the reason?"

He stopped drinking from his glass and lowered his head. "I don't know how and where to start, to be honest with you."

"Just tell me."

"You will get angry."

"I won't"

"You will."

"I promise I won't"

"But you still will," he sighed. "Look, I don't wanna scare you off, alright? You're… kinda the only real friend that I ever had."

"Tell me already, you are seriously getting on my nerves."

"Okay, okay, fine," he finally looked at me. "I… kinda like you."

I was absolutely confused. His face turned bright red; I think he was getting drunk by now.

"We are friends, of course we have to like each other," I said.

"I love you."

I nearly dropped my glass.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I love you."

"Oh God," I said. "I think I need another drink."

"It wasn't a coincidence that you were assigned as my assistant," he continued, downing the entire glass of vodka. "I asked Arthur to request your help from your boss, because I had a crush on you but I didn't tell anyone."

"…we never knew each other before, didn't we?"

"You know me from TV and tabloids, and I know you from work," he said as he grabbed another shot of whiskey from the bar counter. "I walked pass you every time I walked back home after I got off from the bus. I go a station further just to see you, but you never noticed."

"…I am getting kinda creeped out right now," I said, laughing nervously. "If this is a joke, I don't find it funny at all."

"It isn't a joke, Emil," he grabbed my hands and said in a sincere tone.

"Leon, you're drunk. You don't know what you're talking about right now."

"It isn't a joke," he repeated, even more firmly this time.

"Sure it isn't," I sighed, taking out a twenty dollar bill and putting it on the bar counter. "Let's go, I'll take you home."

He didn't protest when I lifted him up by an arm across my shoulders. He was drunk, but not too drunk. I knew how to deal with drunk people as I had to dealt with my father since a young age.

"I'm not drunk," he said again and again. "I am not drunk at all."

"When someone say they're not drunk," I said, holding his arm firmly. "Then they definitely are."

Luckily his home was only two minutes walk from the pub. He continued to talk nonsense on the way which I tried to ignore. He seemed to be talking in his native tongue as I did not understand a word that came out.

When I fumbled through his bag for his house key, he pulled his arm back and collapse on the floor against the wall beside where the lifts were.

He started to cry.

I had no idea how to handle a crying person. My brother probably knew though, since I was the crying person he needed to handle. But he wasn't here. He was thousands of miles away from me.

But Leon was just a meter away.

I knelt down in front of him. He was sobbing like a five year old who dropped his sweets on the floor and his mum forbade him to pick them up.

"Le…Leon," I tired to talk to him. "Are you alright?"

He did not seem to hear me.

"Leon…" I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" he slapped my hand away and suddenly stood up. I took a step back, because I knew he did martial arts and I did not want to get beaten up by a drunk model.

"Who do you think you are!" he grabbed my shoulders and shook them violently. "Who do you think you are?!"

"I-"

"You can just go fuck yourself!"

"Leon-"

"I don't give a fucking shit anymore!"

Father…

"You did this to me! You came and go and took everything! _You fucking bitch!_" he exclaimed. His fingers dug inside my shirt harshly. I tried to push him back but he would not move an inch.

"Leon!"

He grabbed the keys in my hand and opened his door standing on his unsteady legs. "Don't let me ever see your face again," he said before slamming the door shut.

I stood.

It was so quiet a needle falling could be heard.

I stood.

And tears were forming.

* * *

><p><em>I read that he wanted to quit his job a several times.<em>

The next morning I did not go to work. I stayed in my bed.

I was not tired, I was not hungry, I was not feeling ill.

The thought of linking Leon Wong and my father together sickened me.

After calling to the office that I would not be there for the morning shift, I sat on the sofa, surfing through the TV and there was nothing good on air.

"-four, the best virtual experience," Leon in the commercial smiled at me gently and said, holding up the new phone.

I did not have the mood to buy a new phone, nor did I have the heart to see Leon's face again.

My quiet morning was suddenly interrupted by a series of doorbell ringings. I reluctantly stood up and went to the door viewer to see who was the uninvited visitor.

It was Arthur Kirkland.

I opened the door and there he was, in his usual suit and tie all neatly ironed. He looked somewhat apologetic.

"Good morning, Mr. Steilsson," he said, giving me a small smile which he never did. "Sorry to just barge into your apartment without any notice beforehand. I went to your office just now and they said you weren't feeling well, so I asked for your address and came here directly instead."

"No, it's fine," I said, moving out of the way to let him in. "Would you like some coffee or tea?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," he replied, glancing around my tiny living room.

I made his breakfast tea in a mug and put it on the kitchen table. He came in and took a seat, taking a sip from the mug.

"I reckon you already knew what am I doing here," he said to me. I sat down in front of him.

"I guess so."

"Leon is having a terrible hangover. His alcohol tolerance may be good, but not good enough to handle three bottles of strong vodka and whiskey," he sighed and told me. "Are you feeling alright today?"

"I didn't drink any strong alcohol."

"No, I mean…Leon said he…" Mr. Kirkland seemed a bit uncertain. "…wasn't very friendly to you last night."

"That's no big deal," I said, trying to act casually. "He was drunk after all."

"I want to apologize on his behalf," he said. "I was going to ask him to come, but he said that you would hate him for what he had done."

"I've experienced worse, so I would never hate him for just that," I laughed bitterly.

"I will make him apologize to you face-to-face someday," he said. "Well, I'd better go. Thank you for your time and the tea."

"Welcome," I said.

"You can continue to rest. I can show myself out," he said. "Good day."

Then he walked out of the kitchen and walked out of the door. I did not take a breath until I heard the door shut.

I did not expect that.

* * *

><p><em>I stopped reading articles about him.<em>

Two weeks had passed since that day.

We did not text or talk to each other at all.

I went back to my old life. Lonely, isolated, and unnamed.

He left along with all the good bits of it.

I hated him for that.

* * *

><p>"<em>I know you're listening,<em>" his voice came out from the voice message machine in my bedroom. "_I know you are, so please listen to what I have to say. I'm sorry, I am so, so, sorry. I had the most wonderful friend and then I drove him away because of my stupidity. I am sorry. You are the best friend I've ever had and I am not willing to lose you. I can explain it all to you if you still consider me as your friend…I'm so sorry."_

He said 'sorry' for four times and 'friend' for three times in these thirty seconds.

So I texted him.

_Where and when?_

* * *

><p>We were not at a pub this time. He said he booked a nice restaurant where we could actually talk.<p>

He was nervous, I could tell. He kept asking me if I wanted anything special to eat or drink, and I kept telling him 'no'.

He smiled at me but it was not genuine.

"Look; all that I have said that night was nonsense. I did not mean it at all," he said.

"All?"

"All. I promise."

"So you don't actually like me."

"Yeah. That's a relief, isn't it? I may have mistaken you as my ex-girlfriend and I was a bit drunk before you arrived already," he laughed a bit and said. "I hope we can still be friends even if I said all those stupid and horrible words to you."

"Yeah," I said. "Friends. Sure."

He seemed more than thrilled when I said it.

I heard a glass shattered on the ground along with something inside me. And it hurt as if I had cut myself with a knife.

I thought it was real.

I thought he meant it.

Was he lying to me all along?

If he did not mean what he had said I would not have let myself fall into that deadly pit.

I went to the Wonderland for the past four months.

And it was time for me to wake up.

* * *

><p>Trash talk time:<p>

Hey guys I'm Ariel :) I wanted to write HongIce for a loooong time but I never had the plot or idea to do it. Three nights ago I came up with this AU, and the story was finished within this three days (all written at night). I know this is an unusual AU for this pairing, but hope you enjoyed it.

Please request any pairings that you'd like to read about because I want to know what I can write next!


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